


All the Powers of Hell

by Oblitatron



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: AU, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Humor, M/M, Ouija
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19228582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oblitatron/pseuds/Oblitatron
Summary: Xigbar is a demon who gets stuck with Ouija Board duty. What could go right?





	1. I Don't Like That Place

Hell was unforgiving and harsh, but mostly it smelled like sulfur. Depending on where you roamed, the stench mingled with others common to the hellscape; gunpowder, decaying plant matter, old socks, low tide, and burnt popcorn. To say anyone got used to it was a stretch, but most of the inhabiting demons learned to shrug it off. In the grand scheme of eternity, there were more important things to focus on.

Xigbar mastered the art of shrugging off unpleasantries, moreso than anyone else he knew, but even he had his limits. He wrinkled his nose as he passed by another of Marluxia’s behemoth windows overseeing one of his elaborate gardens. A sea of pinks, greens, purples, reds, yellows, and whites swayed in the stale wind, occasionally setting loose petals and leaves. For the prince to have drowned out the natural odors of hell so effectively was an impressive feat, and every time Xigbar was summoned to Marluxia’s castle, it took days for his sense of smell to return to normal.

Give him gasoline to sniff over demonic daffodils any day, no matter how poisonous the latter.

By the time he exited the castle and reached the front gate, he had degraded to mouth breathing. He sucked air through his teeth as the three Soldiers wrapped their claws around the gate and slowly pried it open, just enough for him to slip out and traverse the ground until he was able to teleport again. He stepped into it mid-stride, not breaking his gait once, even when he made it back to his residency. He grabbed the first thing he could find, a well-worn and unwashed cloak, pressed it against his face, and inhaled deeply.

Visiting Marluxia at any time was unpleasant, between his borderline vacant personality and love of his own voice. The Prince of Hell did his best to avoid interactions with anyone less than the status of a Duke, to the relief of all, but it _did_ mean any irregular summons or meetings bore either the reward of a commendation or the risk of punishments. The risk was hardly worth the gamble, though some did express that it at least provided a sense of excitement, compared to the inevitable and regular meetings that no participant looked forward to.

Commendations were rare. Usually they went to more the more quintessential demons, who either fit Marluxia’s obscured idea of what a demonic aesthetic was or played their evil doings closer to the books. Xaldin and Zexion in particular boasted of several high achievements.

Hell was unforgiving and harsh and those with a competitive streak were usually the ones who thrived. Unlike his peers, Xigbar wasn’t in the demonic industry for the fame and glory; it kept him interested and he found a certain sense of satisfaction in a tough job done right. The silent but palpable ire his fellow demons exuded at his antics only added fuel to the fire. He didn’t play by the rules, but he did his jobs and he did them well, so it began to grate on him when the phrase “surprisingly well” continued to appear in his evaluations.

This time was different, though. When he was given orders to disrupt the moral propriety in Sanfransokyo, being told it was a community of great strategic importance, Xigbar set up his shot with all his patience as a sniper. He scoped out the targets, endured countless meetings of both political and personal natures from his invisible vantage point on the ceiling, and discovered the best threads of tension to snap and unravel their morally rising society.

He didn’t even have to do most of the work. Guns were second nature to him, and magically firing them off, even if he forewent the corrupting bullets of darkness, was close to effortless and enough to turn the city into a raging storm. A few here and a few there, not a single injury to account for, and after months of precise calculations and diligent intel collection, Xigbar had presented his results with a delighted grin.

“—and bam! You’ve got a whole city in an uproar.”

Luxord’s brows had drawn together as Xigbar waited for his audience to speak. Zexion, expressionless as usual, glanced at his superiors. Marluxia’s deadened stare never left Xigbar’s face, even when he finally leaned forward on his elbows on the table, interlocked his fingers before his chin, and asked, “And?”

Even as he lay on his misshapen couch, cloak pressed against his face and summoning the willpower to drag himself to the nearest bar, Xigbar wasn’t entirely sure where he had misfired. Sure, the _quantifiable_ results had yet to be seen, but Marluxia had to be blinder than him to not see the merit of his mission. How else could he miss the implications that a handful of well-timed, “accidental” gunshots bore for any community, let alone one so morally upright? It hadn’t taken more than two instances for individuals to begin banding together, first targeting the gun manufactures for their allegedly faulty designs, then political leaders for their hesitation to take immediate action. Fear and distrust were already corroding their hearts, to say nothing of the anger that was steadily climbing.

Zexion had only spoken up once, to ask if Xigbar had actually used any direct method of corruption, or perhaps wounded someone with his tamperings. Xigbar waved his hand and informed him that wasn’t the _point_ , but Marluxia interrupted with a soulless dismissal. Xigbar, to his surprise, felt a burn in his chest. _“C’mon, are you shitting me? Look, maybe I don’t chip away at one individual for half a decade like_ some _demons—” he swore he saw Zexion’s lips twitch in an effort not to smile “—but I just destabilized the entire foundation of that city’s—”_

Luxord, ever the diplomat, afterward assured Xigbar it was a foul plan worthy of an egregious commendation. Unfortunately, Marluxia’s word was law and though Luxord would do all he could to sway his lord’s mind, he could make no promises. They settled on an agreement to grab a drink in the future, something to look forward to while Xigbar sludged his way through his “probation.”

Probation meant grunt work, and grunt work meant dealing with any lower-level spiritual happenstance before Heaven got to it. Usually it meant dealing with ouija boards and stoned, aspiring musicians asking the universe for good vibes.

One drink was all he asked for, and he couldn’t even get through that when he felt the vertical tugging at his body. He swore, threw some munny down on the counter (which the Neoshadow swept up and into the tip jar with frightening speed), and allowed himself to be transported across dimensions, to whichever birthday party filled with adolescents he was meant to grace.

When he opened his eye, he took some contentment in that it was, at least, not a birthday party. The dizzying clash of inter-generational decor assaulted his one good eye, from the lava lamp on a nightstand to the bead curtain by the door to the _Pokémon_ movie poster by the bed to the disco ball reflecting specks of light directly into his sight. Glaring, Xigbar repositioned himself and took a look at his summoners.

They clashed as much as the room did, from the tops of their heads to their auras. Two of the boys were nearly wriggling, one from impatience and one from a blend of excitement and nervousness. The third sat still, fingers barely brushing the planchette, though Xigbar sensed this was less from boredom and more from restraint. He was the perfect picture of poise and control, legs tucked beneath him and back held straight. He could’ve fooled anyone. “I told you it won’t work, Lea. This stuff isn’t real.”

Anyone without demonic magic. Xigbar smirked.

“Maybe your attitude is why it’s not working, Isa. Don’t you remember Tinkerbell from _Hook_?”

“What, this is a complex Freudian hallucination about my dead mother?”

“What, no—Jesus, Isa! The part about believing! If you don’t believe in Tinkerbell, she dies. Maybe you’re killing the spirit.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. They’re already dead.”

Xigbar shot him an offended look. They could have least quoted—

“Maybe it’s more like _The Santa Claus_.” Xigbar glanced down and decided despite the improbable red, spiked up hair of a teenager with too much to prove and the never-before-seen blue hair crowning that of the stated disbeliever, it was the thirteen year-old with a bona fide mullet that threw him for the biggest loop. “You know, ‘believing is seeing?’ Let’s give it a few more tries, okay? Maybe the spirit needs to take a while to get here.”

He’d heard that rumor, but teleportation had always been his strong suit. And these kids, somehow, had a strong synchronicity despite their bickering.

Isa sighed. “Fine.”

“Maybe the spirit feels unwelcome with you being oh-so hospitable.” Lea grinned at Isa’s glare, and Isa, in a stunning and unknowing impression of Marluxia, said, “Oh spirit, doth thou feel unwelcome here?”

Truthfully, he couldn’t care less, and was debating on where to move the planchette when Lea said, “Hey, spirit, ignore Isa over here. He’s the one who dared us all to try this thing out in the first place. If you’re really here, say something unexpected.”

The three waited in varying levels of apprehension, and Xigbar decided to indulge. If he was gonna be stuck with this job, he might as well get something out of it. He pointed at the first letter, then winced when an aura flared up and hoped the mulleted one wasn’t this excitable every time the planchette moved. Their mounting excitement, nervousness, and suspicion made it harder to focus, but Xigbar was many things, including stronger than three scrawny teenagers, and soon the planchette was gliding across the board.

“N…I…C,” Lea unnecessarily read aloud. “E…L…A…M…P…Nice lamp?”

“It likes my lava lamp?” Mullet asked, voice tinged with awe.

“H…E…” They waited. “He? It’s a he?”

The planchette slid to Yes.

“It’s not an anything,” Isa insisted. “This is all psychosomatic. And Demyx is pressing the planchette too hard.”

True, but not important.

“We need to ask it something that none of us know. That way we know we’re not the ones doing this.”

“But if it’s something we don’t know…how do we know he’s right and one of us didn’t just make it up?” Silence followed Demyx’s question, until Isa flatly said they’d look it up on a computer. “Okay…so what do we ask it? Uh, him?”

“Hey, spirit? What grade did Isa get on this last Spanish test?”

Isa shot Lea a withering look, but Xigbar chuckled. At least the redhead was original. Xigbar held out a hand and summoned a fistful of darkness to it, letting it whirl and writhe in his palm. Humans often hid their secrets and unknowns in the dark, shutting it away or closing their own eyes to it. And unlike light, which could be stopped by a mere sheet of paper after years of travel, darkness only needed an invitation to pierce and grow. Darkness was nothing to a demon and Xigbar had always had a good eye for secrets. Easily, he commanded the darkness to release the answer and obediently, it did.

“Five…two…” Isa’s face remained impassive but Xigbar could feel a pulse of frustration. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

“Okay, but how do we confirm that without waiting until Monday?”

“We can’t,” said Isa flatly. “We need to try something else. Spirit, what is Lea’s mom doing right—”

“Hey, whoa, we are _not_ having this rando spirit spy on my ma!”

“Not cool, dude.”

“We could call her and confirm it,” Isa protested, but Lea took his hands away from the board, folded his arms across his chest, and glared. “Fine. …Spirit, what is _Demyx’s_ mom doing right now.”

“Isa—” Demyx whined. Lea already had his fingertips back on the board.

Xigbar rubbed his temples and wrote out the answer. “Baking cookies? What kind?” The kids watched as Xigbar traced the letters of the Ouija Board, spelling out _Oatmeal raisin_ and adding _gross_ for good measure. Demyx sprung from the floor and raced out the door and down the hallway, returning mere seconds later looking as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Dude…” Isa and Lea nodded their agreement. There was nothing left to say.

Xigbar tapped his fingers against his knee and fought back the urge to ask if he could go. Though they weren’t the worst bunch he’d come across, he could think of literally a thousand better things to be doing than entertaining some teenagers as the scent of oatmeal raisin cookies wafted up the staircase and into Demyx’s room, as he’d left the door open.

But, technically, moving the planchette without a question was a misdemeanor. Couldn’t have too many humans gathering evidence that demons were real. And both Marluxia and Zexion, who despite his abhorrence for eavesdropping always seemed to know when someone broke protocol, were sticklers for rules.

Ultimately, he was spared by Demyx’s mother insisting they not eat in the bedroom, though not after another grueling ten minutes of Lea and Demyx’s questions and Isa’s skepticism. As they argued over semantics and the supernatural, Xigbar studied the room more intently. The lack of color coordination hurt his eye as much as the colors individually. Aside from Marluxia’s gardens, his romping grounds in hell were bleak. The constant glitter from the disco ball didn’t help, nor did the kids rushing out of the room when Demyx’s younger sister threatened to eat all the cookies. Apparently it was no idle threat.

Xigbar scowled at the planchette and the laughter drifting in the room from the downstairs. Of course, he was unable to move it to Goodbye himself. He couldn’t even budge the plastic prop. So he settled in, entertaining himself by eyeing the countless records and band posters slapped haphazardly onto the bedroom walls. At least the mullet had good taste in music, if not cookies.

And when he memorized each of the posters for what they were worth, he finally caved and stared at the lava lamp as the blobs of goo bubbled, separated, floated, then sank back down to the pits of the lamp. He didn’t bother keeping track of how long he went without blinking, but when he finally did, the images seared against the darkness.

He barely registered the footsteps, only just shaking himself back into awareness as the mulleted boy said, “Heh, sorry about that!” and moved the planchette to goodbye.

Xigbar didn’t even have time to sigh in relief before he plummeted back down to hell, crossing time and space in a heartbeat. As luck would have it, he landed in the same bar he departed from and gave an only half-sarcastic salute to the glaring Neoshadow before downing his drink, more inhaling than ingesting. The sooner he could drown out the combined forces of geraniums and oatmeal raisin cookies, the better.


	2. A Big L For...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xigbar: demon, sharpshooter, stronger than three teenagers, and accidental wingman.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Xigbar muttered, staring down at the trio. Same day, same time, same place. Same seating arrangement, though the blue-haired one was stiffer than last time, legs tucked more firmly and tightly under his body and elbows locked in closer to his ribs. In contrast, the redhead radiated direction and movement, even when he wasn’t fidgeting. Xigbar could  _ feel _ the tension of the kid’s thoughts, like a loaded sling-shot ready to fire to the sky. 

He stepped a few inches to the side of the ceiling, just to be safe.

The mulleted one was somewhere between them; not as fidgety as Red but more open than Blue. If the former was a crackling fire, devouring fuel, then the latter was ice, or even the reflection of light off of it. Untouchable, cold, slippery. Xigbar felt a similar slickness in Mullet’s aura, but it was a more bearable temperature than his friends’ and he had a cohesiveness that the other two did not. While the redhead sparked and the blue-haired one bore cracks, Mullet’s aura rolled in waves that never quite crested.

And here he was, joints creaking like the ceiling he stood upon. The smell of cinnamon raisin cookies rose to greet him. Sighing, he dug a cigarette out from his coat pocket and lit it, holding it slightly above his head so the scent mixed with that of the cookies.

“Spirit, are you there?” Xigbar pointed one finger down and slid the planchette to Yes. The three shared a look with each other, the redhead biting his lip. “Um…how are you?” Mullet asked.

_ For the love of… _ “Just…dandy…” The three exchanged glances again. “Okay…um…—”

“Who uses the word ‘dandy’? What decade is this guy from?”

“We don’t know it’s a guy, Lea,” said Mullet, in all his unflinching fairness. “Though, to be sure…is this the same spirit we spoke to last time?”

Their hands glided across the board, and Xigbar could feel their growing alarm at the lengthy response. At the end of it, Lea actually laughed. “He has a point,” he told his friend in all his mocking fairness.

“Why’s he gotta pick on my mom? She just likes raisins, okay?”

“They’re gross.”

“They’re  _ efficient _ ,” Mullet insisted. “You get all the same vitamins without them getting all shriveled and squishy after three days.”

“Demyx, that’s what raisins  _ are _ . Shriveled, squishy grapes.”

“I also don’t think they’re that nutritious,” Lea added.

“Are too!”

“Hey, spirit, are raisins actually nutritious?” The planchette jerked to No, though Xigbar didn’t bother looking it up. He was more interested in the argument than the truth. Lea looked up at Demyx. “See? The disembodied dead guy says so.”

“Does he even know what a raisin is?” The level tone made it impossible for them to tell if Isa was joking or not. “What if he died before they were invented?”

Xigbar ran a hand over his face, fingers curling as if to rip it off his head, while the teenagers below argued about how raisins came to be. He zoned out, eye tracing the endless records on the wall and wondering just how much flak he’d catch if he moved this from summon duties to a full-blown haunting. He could turn the record player on easily from where he was, blow a few fuses, make the goo in the lava lamp form small words…

“Ugh, of course you’d take his side!” Demyx was pointing at Lea but looking at Isa. 

“Obviously I’ll take his side if he’s right. It’s not as if raisins—” Isa cut himself off and looked at the planchette, which trembled under their fingers. His eyes narrowed and he lifted he fingers until he was just brushing it, while Lea and Demyx moved in closer.

“Do you think he’s trying to communicate with us?” Demyx asked.

“Hey, spirit! What’s up?” They watched as the letters M and E were selected. “…uh…what?”  _ Nvmd. “ _ Uh-huh…so, our spirit is fluent in slang.” 

They all considered this. Finally, Demyx asked, “Does this mean he’s not that old then?”

“Hey, how old are you?” 

“Give us a human approximation,” Isa added, drawing enough attention for Lea to ask when he started believing they were actually talking to a spirit. “I don’t,” said Isa, quickly. “But it’s not fun sitting here watching you two pretend otherwise.”  _ Buzzkill. _ “ _ Lea _ —”

“Hey, that wasn’t me!” Demyx nodded his agreement, almost lifting his hands off the board in a placating gesture. “What, do you need more proof, then? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure your last Spanish test sold me on the idea.”

Isa opened his mouth, no doubt to protest it was a lucky guess, but Demyx interrupted him to remind them, “Guys, c’mon, now we all know Isa sucks at Spanish. If it makes you feel any better, we can have him guess my chemistry quiz next. But we have a spirit with, like, psychic powers or something. Think of what we could ask it!”

Isa relented and Lea shuffled in closer, and Xigbar found himself once again barraged with a series of questions ranging from  _ What  _ was _ Demyx’s score on his last chemistry test _ to  _ What’s it like in heaven?  _ to  _ Who’s going to win the next presidential election? _ to  _ Does anyone have a crush on us? _

Xigbar responded  _ 36 _ (followed by a  _ Hah tough luck kiddo) _ ,  _ Boring, No idea _ followed by  _ I lost my eye that can see the future  _ (he deliberately stayed quiet during follow-up questions) _ ,  _ and  _ Yes. _ While he rolled his eye at the widening of their own at the last answer, he admitted, if only to himself, that he was impressed it took them a session and a half to reach the universal Ouija Board question. At least they had the decency to pretend they were interested in him, or his debated lack of an eyeball, and what they assumed was his afterlife before getting to their dramatic teen antics.

Plus, he recognized an opportunity when it presented itself, and the way Isa suddenly became very attentive to his fingertips brought a delighted smile to his face.

“Well, that doesn’t do us any good,” Demyx declared. “Who knows if he meant all three of us or just one of us?”

“Hey, Spirit. Did you mean we all have someone crushing on us, or only one of us does?” Lea frowned until they laboriously began to trace the letters. “A…L…L…”

Xigbar looked at the stub of the cigarette between his fingers and flicked it onto Isa’s head, not that the kid would be able to feel it. “You’re a real pain, you know that?” he asked him conversationally. Not that Isa could hear it, either. “You can try to stop me all you want, but that’s not gonna change what’s about to happen. Might as well accept it.”

“Can you tell us who?” Xigbar laughed aloud. If Isa was frosting over by the second, Lea was practically aflame with nerves. It occurred to Xigbar that Lea hadn’t considered the potential consequences of his actions before asking his question, and was only now just realizing the corner he’d backed himself into. 

He had to remember to tell Luxord, maybe even Marluxia. Forget flickering lights or writing in blood on the walls. Revealing kids’ crushes for them was surely a better way to dismantle society.

“He could be lying,” Isa was saying. There was a desperation in his tone, like thin ice trying to bear weight. “You said it yourself, Lea. This guy’s ancient, probably senile. We can’t trust whatever he says.”

_ Asshole _ , Xigbar thought.

“All right, Isa, since you’re so certain this isn’t even real in the first place, why don’t you go first?” One point for the kid with the mullet with his uncharacteristic assertion. “Spirit, who has a crush on Isa?”

Xigbar grinned, cracked his knuckles, and made sure his ponytail wasn’t in the way so he could see their faces. With a pointer finger that had pulled the trigger on countless souls, human and demon alike, he began to guide the planchette.

He had barely touched on the letter  _ L _ before the planchette, and he himself, flew across the room and into the hallway. Xigbar stumbled against the wall by the ceiling, using a hand to right himself, while Lea and Demyx stared speechlessly at Isa, aside from original twin yelps of fright when they first lost contact. Hand still poised slightly in the air, Isa said, “Whoops. My hand must have slipped. I’ll go get it.” The two continued to stare as he raised one knee, brought both hands to it as he pushed himself off the ground, and strode out the door without any change in expression or gait. By fluke or fate, the bedroom door swung slightly behind him, shielding him from the confused gazes of his friends. All they heard was the cessation of his footsteps, then a single, loud crunch.

Isa’s voice, as clear and plain as the plastic planchette, came through the door. “Oh no. I accidentally stepped on it and now it’s broken. Guess that’s the end of that.”

* * *

Eventually Lea convinced Demyx to ask his mom for an ice pack for the sudden onset of limping Isa refused to acknowledge. For the rest of the night they stuck to safer topics, refusing to bring up the Ouija Board at all and skirting anything that looked like it may come close to an argument. Lea didn’t even pick the raisins out of his cookies. When Demyx, two hours later, recommended they all marathon  _ Harry Potter _ , no one was willing to raise an objection, though Isa did pull out a book after Harry lost the bones in his arm. By the thin light of the movie screen, he read, until Lea was asleep and Demyx was waving at him goodnight. Isa curled into his own corner of the couch, placing the soggy icepack on the empty pizza box on the living room table and trying not to touch his feet with Lea’s on the opposite end.

The morning restored some normalcy, if only because Demyx’s parents, younger sister, and younger sister’s best friend were able to absorb lingering apprehension like the Piscean sponges they were. It made Isa and Lea shuffle their feet and trade glances, seeking lifelines in a sea of flopping emotions and deep undercurrents. Usually Demyx was enough of a bouyey to keep them afloat, but he seemed just as unsteady as they did, spilling the orange juice three times as he poured for them and biting straight down onto his fork because he had forgotten to stick the pancakes onto it after rending them apart with the blunt edge.

When Lea excused himself to go to the bathroom, Isa steeled himself. When, two minutes after his return, his phone  _ dinged _ with a text message from his mother, it was all Isa could do not to sag with relief. Ten delayed minutes later, they were out the door and took their first breath of tensionless air in over twelve hours.

The walk back to Lea’s mom’s house was companionable for the first half, the two shoving each other with their shoulders and sharing laughs at Demyx’s family’s oddities, like the raisins in half the stack of pancakes. But when Isa stepped on an unseen rock and hissed in pain, Lea frowned.

“It hurts that bad?”

“No,” Isa lied. “These sneakers are just really thin.”

“Uh-huh.” Lea kept his peripheral vision on Isa as they walked. “You need a shoulder to lean on?”

Isa snorted. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Aww, c’mon.” Isa bit back a smile, but he knew Lea saw it. A bright grin split onto Lea’s own face. “ _ Lean on me _ ,” he began, slowly, gaining in volume and confidence when Isa glanced his way. “ _ When you’re not strong. _ ”

“Oh my god. Stop.”

_ “I’ll be your friend. I’ll help you carry on—” _

“Lea—” Isa warned.

“ _ Cause it won’t be long ‘til I’m gonna need some- _ ” Lea’s voice, slightly flat even when he was on-tune, echoed off the neighborhood houses “- _ body to lean on! _ ” Isa rubbed his face in his hands, but Lea could see his shoulders shaking with held-back laughter. “What, too sappy? All right, how about—” He took a breath and this time Isa chuckled when Lea sang, “ _ When you stub your toe and it hurts you know; friends are there to help you. _ ”

Isa, still chuckling, said, “I’m fine, Lea. I don’t need a friend to lean on.”

“Well, what about a boyfriend?”

Isa slowed to a halt, ache on his sole forgotten as a different sensation on his other soul took place. He stared at Lea, who he almost expected to be boasting a grin at Isa’s reaction. But instead the redhead looked almost as surprised as he did, and much more bashful. Isa watched as Lea fidgeted, scratched the back of his head, and looked down at the pavement as his cheeks flared red. 

A million questions and responses raced through his head, but Isa only croaked, “Did you just—”

“Uh…” Lea chuckled self-consciously. “Ask to be your boyfriend? Yeah.” 

Isa kept staring, then asked, “How long have you…?

“A while.”

“How long is a while?” The question sounded flat even to Isa’s ringing ears. 

Lea laughed again, kicking a stray pebble into the street. “Uh, I mean…kinda…always?” He risked a glance up at Isa, immediately dropping his gaze again. Isa blinked, trying to re-summon the pain in his foot so he could know if he was dreaming or not. The flare-up of panic confirmed he was, in fact, not dreaming when Lea stuck a hand in his pocket and said hastily, “Sorry, just forget about it. I just thought, after last night, maybe you—”

Then it clicked. “Lea, shut up. I like you, too.”

Lea sucked in a breath, met Isa’s gaze, then slowly let it out. Isa swore he could feel it, even a foot away, though most of him felt numb. The heat in Lea’s eyes from the dawning realization and acceptance of Isa’s words was melting Isa’s defenses, so much that he was entirely caught off-guard when Lea demanded, “And you couldn’t have told me, like, three minutes ago? I thought I was gonna have a heart attack!”

“And how do you think I felt last night?” Isa shot back. “I tried so hard to get you and Demyx off the subject, but the two of you—”

“Hey, I was waiting for you to miracle our way out of that. It’s not like I could suddenly go all wishy-washy on Demyx without him grilling me for it.”

“Demyx couldn’t grill a fly even if his family weren’t vegetarians.”

“Couldn’t—Isa, what are you  _ talking _ about?”

“You know what I meant.” Isa pinched the bridge of his nose and then said, “Were you just going to sit there and let that asshole spirit tell me you had a crush on me?”

“I didn’t know what to do!” Lea threw his hands in the air. “One minute we’re all laughing and having a grand old time—”

“I wasn’t.”

“—and then suddenly we’re on the topic of crushes and Demyx is singling you out like the best goat to sacrifice to the god of ruining gay teenagers’ lives!”

“Or an asshole spirit who’s clearly playing favorites.” Isa saw Lea’s brows draw together. “That spirit is a dick. He answers Demyx’s questions way more than ours, and faster, too.”

This seemed to slow Lea down, or least preoccupy him enough to stop shouting. “Do you think Demyx is just channeling his inner demons?”

Isa pondered this, then shook his head. “I don’t think Demyx  _ has _ inner demons. He’s too…”

“Honest?” Lea supplied at the same time Isa said, “Squishy.” Lea snorted, the laughter erupting out of him so quickly it caught in his nose and throat. Isa pointed at him and snickered, then laughed, and then the two were shoulder-to-shoulder, shedding tears from the combination of bearing stress from the night before and its subsequent release. Finally, Isa wiped a hand across his eyes, and choked out, “I cannot believe that you got outed by a fucking Ouija board.”

“I can’t believe you broke it,” Lea countered, not removing himself from his half-laying position across Isa’s bent back. “Holy shit. Do you think we broke the spirit, too?”

“I don’t know.” Nor did he particularly care. Isa rested his hands on his knees, trying to regain control of his breathing, also basking in the way Lea warmed his back, like the sun on a cool day. “But I think I’m going to be resentful he’s the reason we started going out.”

Lea inhaled sharply, but then relaxed against Isa until Isa’s back strained and he tapped Lea’s side, encouraging him off. This time he did lean on Lea; not enough to make Lea support his weight, but enough for both of them to share the act of supporting one another. 

“Well, for whatever it’s worth…” Isa glanced over at him. Lea was scratching his head and grinning shyly. “I, uh,  _ was  _ planning on asking you out sometime soon. Like, before Halloween dance. Wasn’t quite sure how I was going to, but I had a few ideas written down at home…” He trailed off when Isa stopped walking, opting instead to give Lea a disbelieving look. “Uh, Isa?”

“You mean I broke that thing for nothing? That  _ hurt _ .” Lea looked appropriately apologetic and offered to take Isa’s backpack for him, but Isa shook his head. “You can be responsible for getting another planchette,” he told him, leaning back into his shoulder. 

“Hah, fair enough. And hey, next week we can get Demyx back about  _ his _ crushes. That’ll be something to look forward to.”

Isa thought about it, and while it  _ would _ have brightened his mood under any other circumstances, he found it difficult to think of anything to make this day any better than it already was. A sore foot was a small price to pay.

He did, however, suggest they wait a while before cornering Demyx. Demyx would know better than to expect nothing less than forced solidarity from his friends, but he could be slippery when cornered. Better to give him some time to unwind before springing their trap.


	3. All Things Considered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Compared to dealing with three astute and precocious teenagers, what's a little political drama?

Xigbar knew better than to entertain the idea that Marluxia would graciously let him off probation after only a few Ouija Board sessions, but he knew a pattern when he saw one developing. Same day, same time, and the only difference was that now he was a regular guest-star in Lea’s bedroom instead of Demyx’s. Apparently Demyx’s little sister and father were too apprehensive about the possibility of ghosts, even if they were potentially  _ friendly _ ghosts, wandering about their house. Xigbar didn’t blame them, but he did miss the decor. Lea’s room fit more what Xigbar believed a messy teenager’s room was  _ supposed _ to look like. It was nearly identical to Demyx’s, minus the retro paraphernalia.

It was possible, Xigbar thought as the boys dug into the pizza (he was past the point of caring that their greasy fingers would soon be all over his planchette), that Marluxia had “forgotten” about him. It was just the right amount of passive-aggressiveness that could easily be disguised by Marluxia claims of being just too overburdened by all his various and vague but exceedingly important princely responsibilities. And it was, in a way, tactical. No one for a second would actually believe that excuse; just as Xigbar had given up on telling the kids to wipe their fingers of pizza grease, the other demons had given up on trying to prove that Xigbar was somebody who would ever allow himself to be ignored. But no one would stick up for him either, though Luxord would grace him with a sympathetic smile and soothing offers to “see what I could do.” Nothing would get done, unless Xigbar made a point of it, and that’s exactly what people like Marluxia and Zexion were waiting for. A chance to bite.

He’d rather keep them grinding their teeth. And the pineapple-onion pizza was an undeniable improvement over both raisin-whatever cookies and deathly daisies.

Though to place credit where it was due, two months ago he almost threw in the towel when he saw the familiar tops of each head; blue, red, and brown hunched over the board. He had refused to explain or acknowledge the ice pack against his head to the others during a mandatory meeting the morning after Isa unknowingly curb-stomped him directly back to the gates of hell. Letting the others assume it was another one of his weird antics, or that he was simply hungover, was preferable to divulging the truth. It did, however, take far more mettle to sit through a third session with the two and a half humanspawn.

But he stuck to his guns and persevered, noting the way Lea and Isa exchanged glances when he evaded spelling out his identity, and the way they continued to do so throughout the night. Three weeks after that, sixth visit in total, they had given up on asking if he was the same spirit. His responses of  _ Bring the lava lamp over it’s more interesting than you, Wth is  _ that (upon seeing their pizza for the first time), and his personal favorite,  _ What’s up douchebags? _ began leaving very little room for doubt. They never did bring the lava lamp over, but Demyx felt a rush of victory when Xigbar admitted he hadn’t bothered looking up the nutritional contents of raisins, and no, he wasn’t going to look it up, he’s a demon from hell, not a google search bar. Ask better questions.

He had almost hoped his declaration of his demonic nature would scare the kids off, but they had just shrugged and Isa, in a tone that aggravated Xigbar not because of its mockery, but its neutrality, just said he figured they’d all end up in hell anyways so they might as well get a head start.

They did ask better questions, and though Xigbar found it boring and unnecessary to always answer honestly, it wasn’t the worst describing hell to them, or offering tidbits of information about their classmates, or warning them about which specific chef in the cafeteria spat in their lunches during which days.

If Marluxia thought Xigbar wouldn’t inflict his demonic protocol and personal agenda to ruin lives just because he now bore the title of “probation,” that was his problem. Plus, even he has standards, and in his opinion, even Isa didn’t deserve unfamiliar saliva in his dehydrated mashed potatoes.

“Hey, Demon!” Xigbar glanced up, down at the kids who lounged on the floor on pillows and comforters, the ouija board holding a place of honor right next to the pizza box and chicken fingers. Lea propped his head up with one hand, leaning on his elbow. “Are they supposed to be dogs or cats?”

Isa and Demyx obediently and immediately put at least a couple fingers on the planchette, and watched as it spelled out  _ cats _ . “Holy shit!” Demyx’s hand retracted to run through his hair. “Guys, do you know how famous we’re gonna be?”

“Yes Demyx, because everyone will believe us when we say we got our answer from a ouija board.” Isa motioned and Demyx returned his hands. “Are you sure?” Isa asked the board. “Were you even listening?”

_ Nope. _ Xigbar grinned as Demyx deflated and Isa’s expression somehow both sharpened and deadened. Lea groaned and rolled onto his back, fingers only on the planchette because Isa grabbed his hand and placed it there himself. Demyx took it upon himself to re-explain the question, not giving up on the hope that the demon they hosted for their weekly ouija board sessions would end a long-time and heated debate.

Xigbar didn’t understand half of the words coming out of Demyx’s mouth, but he did finally remember the poster hanging by Demyx’s bed. And if there truly was as much controversy as Demyx claimed, Xigbar figured it would be worth investigating. He summoned a ball of darkness to his hand, focused on the question, and waited for the answer to arise from within.

He was reaching into the sphere, trying to pinch out even one signifying letter, when Lea finally got impatient. “Hey, what’s the hold up?” he asked, shaking the planchette slightly. Xigbar didn’t look away, but he did spread his feet wider to adjust his balance. “Yo, demon, you still there?”

The thought to respond  _ No _ briefly crossed his mind, but he was a professional, not a petulant child, and he had a more pressing matter on hand in every sense of the word. He brought the ball of darkness to eye height, squinting to see if there were any visible malfunctions. As far as he knew, darkness didn’t suddenly malfunction, but there was no good reason he needed to throttle it for a simple answer.

Finally, when the impatience from all three began to itch, Xigbar rattled the planchette. The three rolled back towards the center of the circle, loaning him their fingers, and Lea asked, “Well?”

_ TBD. _

“Ugh, great.” Demyx flopped down onto his pack, fingers still idly tracing the planchette. “Guess we’ll have to graduate high school after all and go to college and get real jobs like everyone else.”

Xigbar snorted. Futuristic eye or no, he had little doubt that  _ that _ would ever happen.

* * *

The next week, Xigbar was summoned to the castle. He stood, trying not to look too inattentive, as Marluxia himself generously graced him with the end of his probation, even timing it so that there were several other demons as witnesses. Zexion was one massive held-back eyeroll, but Luxord did wink at Xigbar from across the room before returning to his stack of paperwork.

“In acknowledgment of your lifted sentence, I have a distinguished assignment for you. We’ve received confirmation of the reports of a powerful draconic spirit residing in the Land of Dragons.”

_ Huh, big surprise there.   _ Still, corrupting a dragon sounded technical and risky. He wouldn’t say he was  _ excited _ , but it would be a refreshing change of pace and a learning experience, if nothing else. Boredom was dulling him.

“So, you’ll need to leave this evening, and—”

“Ah, tonight? Sorry, boss, no can do.” Marluxia’s brows drew together before his mouth finished closing, leaving him cartoonishly aghast until his senses caught up to him. Xigbar shrugged and held his hands up before him. It could have been a placating gesture. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Fucking around with a dragon sounds great and all, but it’s just that today’s Friday night in the human world, at least in Quadrant Two, and the kids are gonna be expecting me.”

All sounds in the room ceased, though Xigbar felt the weight of the incredulous, “ _ What? _ ” that Marluxia considered himself too refined to ask. Had Luxord been within sight, maybe they would have exchanged a glance and Luxord would step up in Marluxia’s glorious speechlessness. But he stared at Xigbar, failing worse than his lord to hide his puzzlement.

Xigbar figured they were all losing in some regard. But if he had to put himself in the line of fire to take them all down with him, it was worth it.

He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles. From his peripheral vision, where Zexion always hovered like the annoying and calculated gnat he was, he saw the younger demon wince. That’ll show him. Rolling his head as he stretched, he went on, “Yeah, one of the kid’s mom works the night shift at the hospital, so they usually order a few pizzas, watch some movies, break out the ouija board; it’s kinda a thing now. You know how it is,” he added, knowing full well that Marluxia knew he, in fact, did not. “Should be free tomorrow, though, if the kiddo’s don’t stay up too late. It’s hit or miss with them.”

They all stared at him, though Luxord still had his pen in his hand, dripping ink onto the signature line. Filled with pride at their stunned silence and varying degrees of bafflement, Xigbar gave them a lazy salute and dismissed himself from their presence. Such an act of mercy would have warranted a shared sigh of relief from anyone in the vicinity, but as it was, they could only exchange glances that conveyed their endless questions they would never have answered now that he had graced them with his absence.

* * *

For all his lackadaisical mannerisms, Xigbar was no slouch and they all knew it, even if that knowledge was wrapped in a bow of unspoken agreements to never voice that acknowledgment aloud. It didn’t take a genius to note what caliber of missions he was tasked with, or how often, and thought no one was safe from Marluxia’s judgment, no one had doubted Xigbar would be on probation forever.

But no one had ever thought he’d start volunteering for ouija board duties, either. Zexion couldn’t be sure if he actually enjoyed the work or if the looks of bewilderment (or in Xaldin’s case, disgust) on their faces was enough of a reward for Xigbar to put up with the chore.

He supposed, he thought bitterly as he bowed his head and left Marluxia on his throne, that he may be about to find out. With Xigbar restored to Marluxia’s graces, good or not, there was a vacuum in the space reserved for “least favorite” and someone needed to fill it. And if that someone was chosen for no other reason than all candidates were equally not at fault, then so be it.

It didn’t soften the sting, though, and knowing any argument he presented in his defense would only add fuel to the fire made Zexion’s mouth burn. At least this time, Luxord was the only audience needed while Marluxia delivered Zexion his sentence. It wasn’t fair or calculable, but neither was it as personal or scathing as Xigbar’s. Two weeks of ouija board duty and showing up in the reflections of humans’ mirrors, then they would re-evaluate his work.

Zexion schooled his face into a neutral mask and barely looked at the Soldiers as they opened the gate for him to pass. Regardless of the unfortunate decision made by his lord, Zexion would change nothing about the high standard he held his craft to. He would continue to excel, even in something as dreary was grunt work.

Several days were dedicated to haunting mirrors before he felt a pull at his incorporeal body. Closing his eyes, he let the Powers that Be whisk him away until he felt his body, like particles of mist or settling dust, converge once more to form his preferred appearance. Then, he opened his eyes and looked around, just in time to see one of the boys open a box.

The stench made him gag, and he spent a useless thought wishing he had savored the moments between his eyes and the pizza box opening, though he had no idea there would be a need for savoring. He covered his nose with one hand and backed as far away from the box as he could, reaching the edge of the dresser before he deemed himself safe.

“Hey, are you here yet?” the red-headed one asked, already shoveling a visibly too-hot pizza slice into his mouth. The smell of wet, burning flesh reached his nose and Zexion pinched his nose harder. Sucking air in through his teeth, Zexion focused and slid the planchette to Yes. “Sweet, let’s get started then. How’s hell?”

He resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. Perhaps human children were more educated than their adult counterparts, or maybe just more accepting of demonic forces. It had been some time since he did anything other than terrorize them with visions and whispers of death. He made a mental note to do more research into the younger generation of humans, already wondering what sorts of cultural influences may be affecting them. Mentally re-gripping the planchette, which was slicker than he remembered them feeling, he spelled out his answer.

The kids traded looks after he was done, as he waited patiently for another question. Their suspicion, between eyes flickering towards one another and the brunette mouthing a distinct, “ _ What? _ ”, was on full display, and Zexion almost felt insulted. Just because he was a demon, it didn’t mean he didn’t have manners.

“Uh, are you feeling all right?” Lea asked, giving his friends a dubious look when the planchette slid to  _ Yes _ , followed by a  _ How are you? _ “Okay, what—”

Demyx cut him off with an,  _ “Oh! _ ” He flailed his hands before pointing at Isa and nodding emphatically as Isa spoke their shared realization. “Are you the same spirit we’ve been speaking with before?”

Zexion, who knew full well the tactical advantages of lying and spreading falsehoods, made the decision to put them aside and slid the planchette to No.

The uproar was instant.

“Are you serious?!” Demyx demanded, immediately removing his hands from the board to cross them under his chest.

“What gives?” Lea scoffed, glaring at the board. “You can’t just crash our ouija board night. Who the hell do you think are, anyways?”

“We want  _ our _ demon!”

“Go back to hell!”

“The nerve of you, really.”

Zexion glanced briefly at the silent one, but Isa was already moving the planchette, offense written on his face plain as day. He didn’t even give Zexion a chance to prepare himself, despite all logic pointing in a singular direction. The planchette touched “Goodbye” and Zexion found himself laying in the dust by the gates of hell. The two Invisible guards scrutinized him as he stood shakily, dusted off his cloak and gloves, and glared up at the void above them.

The sheer rudeness and immaturity. It was truly deplorable.

* * *

The next week, Xigbar cackled until he had to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. Once they were done regaling him how they kicked out “that jackass demon,” he admitted, not just to himself but to the kids, that they had done good. Each of their auras tinged themselves pink.

When Xigbar saw Zexion next, in a crowded room of arch demons sipping on their infernal champagne, he broke away from his conversation with Luxord to call out, “Hey, Zexion! The kiddo’s say hey!” Zexion’s brow furrowed, staring at Xigbar as he visually triedto unravel the message, and Xigbar’s grin shone like a jack-o-lantern when comprehension dawned. He laughed aloud, letting Zexion know it was under no circumstances  _ not _ in response to the glare Zexion sent his way, and leaned his elbow back against the stairwell, asking for Luxord’s pardon for the interruption as he took a well-deserved sip of his champagne with a silent cheers.

  
  



	4. Starts With A...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a shocking night for them all.

“Pineapple and onion,” Lea repeated slowly, making sure to exaggerate both his enunciation and his eye-roll. “Yeah, a large. And one large order of chicken fingers, a large order of fries, a small, uh, hang on. Do we want mozzarella sticks?” he asked, tilting the phone away from his mouth.

“Yes,” Isa answered the same time Demyx said, “I thought we were getting fried zucchini.”

“Well, Ma only left enough money for one or the other. Hurry up and decide. Anyways,” he said back into the phone, as if the cashier hadn’t heard the entire exchange. “We’re debating between motz sticks and fried zucchini, but we’ll also take a two-liter of orange soda. Mhmm. Yeah, Crush is fine. And—hey!” he protested as Isa and Demyx grabbed the hand propping up his chin and placed it on the planchette. “Are you kidding me?” he demanded as they asked the demon what he thought they should get. _Both._ “We don’t have money for both, dude,” Lea said again, and waved the phone in his hand. “And we’re being really annoying right now. Just pick something.” _Fried pickles._ “You are such a—”

“Zucchini. We got mozzarella sticks last time.”

“Yes!” Demyx cheered as Lea relayed the order. Once he hung up, Lea glared their way and by the time he was done lecturing on the proper protocols of food ordering, all three of them felt appropriately ashamed and left their demon to entertain himself while they scrounged through their wallets, pockets, Lea’s dresser drawers, and backpacks for more money to add to the tip.

“You better be right about this place,” Lea informed the board once they had amassed a pile of stray bills and loose change. “Ordering from a new pizza joint feels wrong.”

“It’s throwing off the social feng shui,” Demyx agreed. “I mean, it’d be like if we had a Friday night sleepover without breaking out the good ol’ ouija board.”

“Strife’s Pizza will still be there next week,” Isa reminded them, though he said it without his usual firm conviction. Xigbar thought Isa spoke more out of commitment to the principle of counterbalancing his friends than belaying his actual feelings. There was certainly a deflated-balloon energy amongst them, at least until the doorbell rang and all three jumped to their feet. Xigbar settled himself more comfortable in his darkness-conjured, tri-legged stool as they raced to acquire their bounty. He wondered vaguely if demonic alcohol was transportable between dimensions.

Minutes later they returned, and Lea kicked the door shut behind him. “Okay, seriously, this better be good. ’Cause that delivery guy was nowhere near as hot as the usual one.” Demyx nodded in agreement.

“At least you could talk to this one without looking like a complete dumbass.”

“Oh, yeah, _I’m_ the dumbass. At least I _can_ talk to him and not just conjure up the most bland, ‘Thanks,’ to ever exist before slamming the door in his face. And,” Lea continued, sliding the pizza box towards the center of the group as he took his seat, “at least I’ve never chugged an entire half-gallon of milk when that delivery girl showed up because I panicked when she asked if she had the right house.”

“That was one time!”

“Good, ‘cause Ma said people can die from shit like that.”

“Yeah, Lea, trust me. I got that whole lecture memorized.” Demyx looked to Isa for support but saw him face-first into his own palms, shoulders shaking from trying to restrain his laughter. Demyx huffed and reached out to the bag of fried zucchini. Isa hadn’t been of much help during the actual incident either; while Demyx, rubber chicken squeezed in one hand and milk carton in the other, chugged as if he could drown his awe of the girl and its spousal terror with enough rich, dairy goodness (and objectively he was right, as long as he didn’t mind drowning himself in the process), Isa laughed until he didn’t have air in his lungs and shed tears of mirth until he ran out of tears. Neither Lea nor the delivery girl, standing in the doorway in equal amounts embarrassment and disbelief, knew what to do. Lea didn’t know who had it worse; he had years of background knowledge to highlight the contrast, but the girl had never seen them before and, with any luck, would never see them again. It was only the miraculous arrival of Lea’s mom that salvaged the situation. The girl was sent on her way with extra tips, Isa was successfully re-hydrated throughout the night, and all four of them (with the pizza box, nestled between Lea and Isa in the backseat) took a trip to the ER so Demyx could have his vitals checked for two hours.

They hadn’t even saved him any pizza.

“Yeah, well, if we’re done picking on me and my dumb reactions to my crushes, can we talk about winter break? My parents wanna know if you two are coming along on our ski trip again.”

Xigbar rolled his neck, wincing as it cracked, and was preparing for another long night as an unwilling audience member when he felt something shift below him. Though he still carried residual laughter in his aura, Isa was now regarding Demyx with an expression nothing short of predatory, smiling like a wolf that just _knew_ it found the right prey. Lea, partway through answering Demyx while Demyx idly played with the planchette, did a double take and trailed off. The half-smile on his face, Xigbar deduced, wasn’t because he knew what Isa was planning, but because he had faith that whatever it was, it would be good. It was contagious, too, because Xigbar found himself sitting a bit straighter, eager to be a front-row observer to whatever mischief was afoot.

“Actually, we’re not.” Demyx paused, zucchini slice dripping dressing back into the container. “Since you brought it up; a while ago, we were all discussing our crushes, but I don’t think we ever talked about your’s.”

“Uh, yeah, ‘cause I don’t have one?” Demyx set the saturated vegetable down on the paper plate. “I mean, pizza delivery girl aside, and I’m over her.” Neither one looked convinced. “You really think you wouldn’t know if I had a crush on someone? Or that I wouldn’t tell you?” He bore the twin stares of Lea and Isa, but even mere baseless accusation kick-started his anxiety. “Guys, I don’t have a crush on anyone,” he insisted, sounding entirely defensive and false in his effort to be sincere. _And what an effort it is,_ Xigbar thought, impressed. _The kid’s a natural-born truth-sayer._ But Demyx’s persistence only strengthened Isa and Lea’s shared determination to get him to crack, or at the very least give him a hard time. Xigbar grinned. _About time we had some fun._

“You’ve been way spacier than usual,” Lea was listing off, counting his points on grease-laden fingers. “You’ve gotten _way_ more into all the romance scenes in the play, all your band plays anymore are top decade’s love hits, and you’ve specifically been wearing more cologne and wearing more hair gel each Friday.”

“Okay, that is all _so_ out of propor—”

“Holy shit, are you in love with Mr. Sid?”

Demyx regarded Lea with the same disgust for suggesting it that Lea regarded Demyx with for his own idea. “No, Lea, I’m not in love with our million year-old Friday afternoon enrichment’s teacher. You clown.”

“Demyx, if anyone here is going to be called a clown, it’s—”

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” Lea burst out, and Demyx floundered.

“Okay, fine, maybe I’ve been weird! Maybe puberty is kicking in and my hormones are all over the place. I’m thirteen; it’s normal! It doesn’t mean I have a crush on anyone. Ask your mom, Lea, she’s the nurse. She can tell you all about it.”

“I’m not asking my Ma about your hormones!”

“Does Demyx have a crush on anyone?” Isa demanded hastily, fingers flying towards the planchette before any aspect of this conversation he ushered into creation flew any more out of control than it already had. Lea joined him, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“Yeah, good idea,” Demyx said, trying and failing to be sarcastic towards what was, as far as they knew, actually a good idea. “Ask the nearly-omniscient demon. He’ll tell you—”

_Yes._

Demyx stared at the planchette. Isa and Lea did too, then at each other, then at Demyx, who blinked stupidly. Lea muttered, “I fucking knew it,” and Isa coughed to cover his laugh.

Demyx blinked again. “I don’t—”

“All right, out with it.” Lea settled back onto his stomach and elbows, not quite comfortable, but getting closer now that the conversation was moving in a more favorable direction, away from his mother. “Who is this mystery crush?”

Xigbar leaned his elbow onto his knee, summoning a sphere of darkness into his hand. _Sorry, kiddo,_ he thought to Demyx as he reached into the ball. Waves of pre-nervousness were already bubbling up towards him. _It’s just not your lucky day._ When his fingers met the letter, he pulled up. He stared. The silver, translucent X stared back.

_Oh, no way._

“X?” Lea asked aloud, unnecessarily squinting at the board. “That’s weird.”

“You have no idea,” Xigbar murmured, only half-certain that he was drawing the right conclusions. Then he drew an I.

…Ninety-nine percent certain.

“X-I? What’s the deal?”

“Demyx is probably messing it up.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Then why’s our demon spitting out nonsense? Hey, demon, what gives?”

“Well, if you’d just let me concentrate,” Xigbar muttered, reaching for a third letter. A bold, shining, and unsurprising G.

When he traced it on the board, Demyx’s aura simultaneously fossilized, imploded, and erupted. As attuned as he was now to the board and to each of them, Xigbar knew the clash could have knocked him off his feet. And while his cloak all but whipped about in the maelstrom, Xigbar’s attention stayed locked on to the letters, bobbing serenely before him in the air. Certainly, he thought, this was too good to be true. Like a bullet at warp speed, his mind flashed through every Friday night he’d spent on the ceiling of the kids’ bedrooms, trying to line the pieces up. And while nothing specific made itself obvious, the blatant outcome before his face made Xigbar grin, the smile cracking its way onto his face until he was baring teeth, and then he threw his head back and positively howled. “No fucking way,” he wheezed to himself between cackles. He only barely paid attention to the argument breaking out below him, too caught up in reveling in whatever good fortune had led him and Demyx to experience the exact same revelation at the exact same time. 

“What does this even _mean_?” Lea wanted to know, gesturing at the board.

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know! Maybe he’s just fucking around with us.”

“As if,” Xigbar guffawed, wiping a tear away from his eye and leaning to one side to ease the stitch growing in it. “I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.” He reached for the next letter.

Halfway from the G to the B, Demyx ran, kicking the cup of ranch over as he flung himself towards the door. Sudden enough to stun his friends, so poorly executed that the precious few seconds Demyx earned were wasted as he scrambled for the doorknob, flattened against Lea’s door like a lizard in its glass aquarium. Lea gave chase, tackled his door closed, and wrestled Demyx in a headlock. Xigbar doubled-over in his seat, one eye trained on them only out of centuries of discipline and a burning desire to not miss a move they made despite the pain in his side and tears in his eye. Isa, likewise, doubled over, though he shielded both eyes with his hand and only told the demon he was so sorry he had to see this. Xigbar’s palm itched to write out his response, which was that he only wished there were a way to pit Lea and Demyx against Zexion. Two scrawny teenagers against one twig of a demon and, watching Lea and Demyx struggle their way back to the board, he still wasn’t sure which one would win.

“Seriously, what is _up_ with you?” Lea groaned, hands clasped over opposite wrists to keep his hold on Demyx.

“Nothing’s up.” The bright cheer in his tone only made his breathlessness more apparent. “I just want to go, all right? Like, fuck this ouija board demon—” _You wish,_ Xigbar thought, head buried in his hand. “It’s the perfect night for a brisk, say, two point six mile run back to my place.”

“Demyx, it’s thirty degrees outside.”

“Thank you, Lea, for focusing on the real issue here.”

“Thank _you_ , Isa, for all your help,” Lea replied as he shoved Demyx over to his former seat. Satisfied that Demyx would be still, at least for the time being, Lea grabbed a fistful of napkins and began sopping up the spilt dressing. “You could’ve at least cleaned this up.”

“Sorry. But let’s finish this before Demyx has a stroke. I believe we were on G?” Lea nodded and returned his fingers to the board, keeping a watch on Demyx. While he was fairly confident his next escape wouldn’t be through the second story window, Lea felt as though he couldn’t be entirely sure.

Xigbar took a deep breath, rubbed his chin with his free hand, and moved to the B. “Come on, Mullet, you’ve gotta have some more fight left in you. I’m rooting for a black eye.” The planchette slid to the A, and just touched the R when Demyx delivered. Five eyes in varying states of joyous disbelief and scornful but resigned judgment watched as the planchette flew, not out the door and out of reach as Demyx hoped it would, as it had for Isa, but a nearly straight three vertical feet in the air. It landed, long point down, directly into the cup of soda by Demyx’s elbow. He froze, the preemptive grin of victory taking on a more forced expression that did little to hide his terror. Isa let Lea have the honor of yanking the planchette out of the soda and wiping it down, opting to support him by giving Demyx the universal, “What the fuck?” eye squint and head shake. Demyx remained as he was, one hand still above his head from the throw, eyes flickering between Lea, Isa, and the board as they re-set themselves and told Xigbar to go ahead.

 _That’s it,_ he wrote.

“X-I-G, B-A-R,” Lea re-iterated, and watched as the planchette slid to _Yes._ Lea and Isa bore the same suspicious, puzzled expressions as they tried to think what code or message the name could be hiding. Xigbar sat back and shook his head. The bigger puzzle, he thought, was how on Earth the kid developed a crush on him and how no one, himself included, noticed until now. But, though he’d avoid admitting it out loud, they were all bright kids. If Demyx already figured out what the answer meant, Lea and Isa would soon follow suit.

“How…” Isa’s brow furrowed, and Lea picked up the question. “How do you even pronounce that?”

Demyx de-icicled himself at their expectant stares. “What, you’re asking me? I don’t know.”

“It’s your crush.”

“I _told_ you, I don’t—”

“I mean, it’s just the ‘X’, really,” Lea mused aloud. “The ‘igbar’ is pretty straightforward. Maybe it has a k/g sound, like in ‘exaggerate?’”

“Kigbar?” Isa asked disdainfully.

“Yeah, that’s dumb,” Lea agreed. “Demyx, why do you have a crush on someone with such a dumb name?”

“Hey, screw you! Maybe it’s more like a ‘z,’ like in ‘xylophone.’ Zigbar sounds way better.”

“Or,” Xigbar offered to the unhearing teenagers, “You could just ask the nearly all-knowing demon literally hanging around at your disposal.”

“So you admit you have a crush on this person!”

“I don’t.” At this point it sounded more like a plead than a statement. “I’m just saying, your example has the ‘x’ later on in the word and mine is at the start, like this guy’s name.”

“Whoa, guy?”

“It’s a figure of speech! Stop making this weird.”

“Demyx, this _is_ weird!”

“You know,” Isa said slowly, not out of uncertainty, but to make sure he’d plow through Demyx and Lea’s excitement. “This name might not even be English. It could be foreign, or a translation.”

“Oh? Like…?”

“Well, in Chinese, the letter ‘x’ can have a ‘sh’ sound. It’s only one option, but still.”

“Oh, you little punk. I’m gonna—”

Lea unknowingly cut Xigbar off, letting, “Shigbar,” roll scornfully off his tongue. “Seriously, Demyx? _Shigbar_? That’s fucking stupid.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Xigbar added, glaring at Isa, whose lips were pressed so tightly together Xigbar dared to hope he’d cut off his own circulation. “It’d serve you right,” he told the boy. “I _know_ you said that just to make me sound stupid.”

“Ugh, whatever. Hey, demon, who’s this Shigbar person?”

They waited in tension so palpable it’d break the plastic pizza knife if they tried to cut it. Xigbar paused, eye taking each of them in as he gave Lea’s question due consideration. The redhead was almost aggressive in his bearing, which Xigbar figured had more to do with the reactions he was being fed from both Isa and Demyx than his actual feelings towards them. Lea was just getting riled up, similar to the months ago when tackling the same issue but with different targets.

Isa, he realized, made the tactical decision early on to quietly abandon the wheel of the conversation, allowing Lea and Demyx to fight over it while he took backseat. Not retreating enough to quell or fully spare himself from whatever the outcome of the seeds he had sown, but enough to point out he’d stopped nearly all active participation minutes ago if aggression turned to him.

Massaging the last remains of pain out of his side, he looked at Demyx. The poor kid was nearly drowning in a whirlpool of emotions, and Xigbar honestly couldn’t say he blamed him. After all, it’s not every day you realize you’ve been crushing on the disembodied demon from hell you’ve been routinely summoning to Friday night slumber parties. And the mental pleads and apologies Demyx was sending his way were _loud_.

So, he weighed his options. He _could_ out Demyx and leave him embarrassed, cause some minor chaos, and perhaps ruin a few friendships or middle school reputations. _Or_ he could stay quiet and let the mystery unfold at its own pace, along with Lea and Isa’s frustrations.

And hey, maybe the end result would be the same. But one option was clearly more entertaining.

“Never…heard…of…him—oh, come on!”

Isa shook his head. “Playing favorites, as usual.” Lea rolled onto his back, fingers digging into his hair. “Are you screwing around with semantics, or do you actually not know?”

 _Beats me,_ the board read. Isa felt his eyebrow twitch.

“Guys, can we just drop it? Please?” Demyx’s voice wavered, though he tried to disguise it by picking at his sleeves nonchalantly. “I’m sorry for being an asshole a few months back. I get it; this seriously isn’t fun. I _really_ want to stop.”

Lea and Isa glanced at each other, then Lea sighed, dropping his elbows to the ground and resting his hands on his forehead, fingers interlocked. “Dem, you don’t have to apologize.”

“You already have. About ten times.”

Demyx nodded silently, and Isa considered the ouija board still under his hands. “Actually, I think you need the apology,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think this would get so…tense. You’re so upbeat and carefree all the time, I think I forgot you were allowed to get upset about things, or have a right to privacy. I’m sorry.”

Demyx nodded again, still not looking beyond his sleeve. Isa slapped Lea on the shoulder. “Ouch, geez! I thought it went without saying I’m sorry, too.” Demyx still had his head ducked too low for them to see his face. Lea, on his back, wormed his way closer to the board, grinning when he saw Demyx was staring at the ground not out of petulance, but to hide a smile of his own from Lea’s antics. “Aww, there we go! There’s our favorite floppy Magikarp.”

“Screw you,” Demyx said, with nowhere near the same amount of force as before. “You’re gonna eat those words when I become a Gyarados some day.”

“Psh, what’s a Gyarados to a Moltres? C’mon,” Lea gestured to his prone body, “it’s pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, chicken arms and weird kneecaps in all.” Isa, entirely unprepared for the upsetting accurate visual, nearly spit his soda back into his cup.

Lea’s ears were as red as his hair. “Oh, get real!”

“No, you get real,” Isa laughed, setting the cup down before he could do more damage. “I had to watch that most recent scuffle from afar, Lea. He’s right.”

“Well, what does that say about him? I did manage to get him over here, no thanks to you, might I add again.”

“That’s because Demyx is all wriggle and no bite.”

“For now. Also, Gyarados is a Water-type, so I’m pretty sure one Hydro Pump could take you out, Lea. And it’s _way_ more popular than Moltres.”

“Who cares about popularity? Moltres still has the title of legendary.”

“You could take me out right now,” Xigbar offered from overhead. “No complaints here. C’mon, one shot, right to the brain.”

“Psh, legendary is over-rated.”

“Says the only non-legendary one here.”

“So what does that make Isa? Articuno?”

“Please. You know I can hardly count to one in Spanish.” Isa bit back a smile when Lea and Demyx laughed. “Seriously, though. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think the heart palpitations are dying down.”

“That…may not be as good as you think it is. Are we gonna have to call Ma?”

“No, we’re good.”

“Do you want to talk about…this?” Isa asked, waving his hand generally over the ouija board but looking intently at the boy across from him. “If there’s something you feel comfortable sharing, Lea and I are here for you. We may not, uh, understand it,” he added, hoping he could mitigate his awkwardness by being forthcoming, “But we’ll listen.”

It wasn’t funny, but Demyx chuckled anyways, grinning self-consciously. “Maybe later? It’s not that I don’t trust you guys, but there’s just a lot I need to think about.” Lea gave Demyx a thumb’s up and Isa nodded understandingly. “How about we go see what Christmas specials are on TV?” That sounded pleasant and agreeable and harmless to all except Xigbar, who denied the invitation from Demyx to join them with a _Let me die already._ He returned Lea’s middle finger and Isa’s grimace with twice the amount of sass, but could only sigh when Demyx mouthed a, “Thank you,” when he slid the planchette to goodbye.

This would make for a sad report, Xigbar thought as he collapsed into his bed. But at least he could say he tried to do the wrong thing. And though half the delight had been rotted away by the grotesque amounts of verbal fluff, Xigbar was good at shrugging off unpleasantries. And that was a star-aligning, cosmic-level joke he’d happily keep all to himself.

* * *

The next night, Demyx plugged the lamp into the outlet by his bed, took a deep breath, and placed the quarter gently but decisively onto the notebook. He wasn’t sure if legibility was an issue with DIY ouija boards, but he’d tried the best he could. It was difficult to see under the bed, given that the only light came from the amorphous blobs of goo from his lava lamp, but if he lit the string lights strung to the springs his parents might notice he was past his curfew. Besides, it felt safer, somehow, being enclosed on multiple sides.

“Hey, uh, you there?” he asked, fingers barely touching the quarter. For over a minute, all was still, and Demyx was just about ready to accept the his harebrained plane wouldn’t work when the quarter began to slide across the spiral-bound notebook paper.

“N-I-C-E,” Demyx whispered to himself. “L-A-M…heh, I was hoping that would work. Wish I could turn on the string lights, but my parents and all…” He clearly saw the tangent he was about to embark on and rapidly switched course. “Hey, uh, thanks again for covering for me yesterday.” _Np._ “Cool, cool. Uh, yeah, mostly just wanted to say thanks. In person. Again. And sorry for Lea and Isa getting mad at you. I mean, that might be part of why you did it, but…” He scratched the back of his head. “Is this weird? I feel like this is weird.”

 _Yes._ Demyx took a breath, trying to fill himself up with air as he felt his heart deflate a little. But then the quarter traced the words, _But so are you, so whatev._ He chuckled. “Hey, you know, that’s fair.”

Xigbar didn’t reply, though Demyx wasn’t sure if he ever had (or even could) respond without a prompt. So Demyx went on, “So, I don’t know how much you know about the human world, but winter break is coming up. Might put a hold on some of these Friday night shindigs until the next semester starts up again. Not, uh, that we’ll be expecting you or anything. I mean, we’d love it if you kept coming around, but if you’re busy with…I dunno, haunting people or whatever it is you do, that’s totally cool. Just didn’t want you to think we were mad or ignoring you or anything.” Demyx winced, wishing not for the first time he had Isa’s talent for conciseness, but the quarter moved to _Ok_ , and while the reply was a relief, Demyx also felt a prickling of anxiety. “Is it more difficult to talk like this? Like, with my chicken scratch and a quarter instead of an actual board?”

 _Yeah._ “Ah, gotcha, gotcha. Well, I won’t keep you here. Oh, wait!” he contradicted, “Okay, well, I do have one more question. How _do_ you pronounce the ‘x’ in your name?” A blob of goo broke off and floated to the top of the lamp. Demyx felt a parallel rush of validation when the word _xylophone_ was spelled out, sending an enthusiastic, mental, _Suck it, Lea!_ to his notably not psychic friend. “So, Xigbar, huh?” _Yes._ “All right, sweet. Just wanted to know. So, uh, I’ll let you go now.”

He hadn’t expected Xigbar to respond and he knew his ears (and face, and neck) flushed as red as his lava lamp when Xigbar painstakingly wrote out his reply. With a quick, “See ya!” Demyx slid the quarter to Goodbye and scrambled out from under his bed, yanking the cord of his lamp out of the wall and opening his window to the frigid December air in an attempt to cool himself off and replace his rapidly heartbeats with shivers instead.

It was, he ultimately decided, a good thing he didn’t have a voice to go along with the text. A voice fitting his mental image of their demon might actually slay him on the spot. And though he had no reason to think anything by it other than Xigbar was being a jerk and teasing him, Demyx _knew_ the phrase was going to haunt him for at least the next few years of his teenage life.

_Be a good boy._

_Fuck,_ Demyx thought, cradling his heated face in his hands. _I’ve got it so fucking bad._


End file.
